


The Creature in the Dark

by halcyon1993



Series: The Kinky Adventures of a Wolf and His Boy [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Cock Worship, Come Marking, Coming Untouched, Derek Hale's Alpha Form, First Time, Full Shift Werewolves, Fur Kink, Large Cock, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Manhandling, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mating Bites, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Size Difference, Top Derek Hale, Wolf Derek, Wolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 09:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14161599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon1993/pseuds/halcyon1993
Summary: From when he was a child, Stiles has occasionally felt a presence in his bedroom at night. His dad said it was just his imagination, but as he gets older and the connection between him and the presence gets stronger, Stiles isn’t so sure.





	The Creature in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> As always with this series, don't judge me for the depravity I have written...
> 
> There are a few things I'd like to clarify before you read this. Most of these points should be obvious, but I'm writing them here just to make absolutely sure:
> 
>   * In this version of the Stilinski house, there is a ledge outside of Stiles' window that Derek perches on, maybe the roof of a garage or something. He does this because he can sense that Stiles is his mate.
>   * The whole plot of season 1 still happens, but Stiles isn't involved in any of it.
>   * Kate used some other means of getting her info on the Hales and didn't try to seduce Derek. As mentioned before, he was already occupied with Stiles.
>   * When Stiles is a kid, Derek is still a beta and just watches Stiles in human form, but when he returns years later after killing Peter, he is in an alpha form similar to his uncle's. Just sexier, of course.
>   * Lastly, Derek's lupine cock is proportional to the rest of him. It's definitely unrealistic that Stiles would be able to take it without being torn in half—but hey, it's make believe, so just go with it! ;)
> 


The first time Stiles senses someone or something in his bedroom, he is eight years old and his mother has recently passed away. It's late in the evening and he is supposed to be sleeping, but he is reluctant because he misses her so much and all of his dreams are filled with her face. He doesn't want to wake up crying again, so instead of subjecting himself to the dreams, every night Stiles sits back against his headboard, the sheets pulled up over his head and the lights out as he reads by flashlight. It's a good distraction, which he pursues until he is so exhausted he can't keep his eyes open anymore and, when he finally falls asleep, he doesn't dream of anything.

This night is no different, until he is suddenly overcome by the feeling that he is being watched.

Tearing his eyes away from the page he had been slowly working his way down, Stiles yanks the sheets off of his head and investigates. He hasn't been scared of the dark for a long time—he's a big boy now—so he is unaffected as he shines his flashlight around his bedroom in search of whatever interrupted him. But nothing seems out of the ordinary. Everything is still in its place, in piles of organised mess his dad always tells him he should clean up.

Just to be sure, Stiles shuffles sideways and hangs his upper half upside-down over the edge of his bed to peer underneath, but apart from a few crumpled sweet wrappers and a couple of old mismatched socks, there is nothing there either.

Frowning to himself, Stiles sits upright again. He was so sure that he was being watched—he still thinks he was, the feeling refusing to leave him. It keeps the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end, but without visible evidence, he decides that he must have imagined it. His dad _does_ always tell him that his imagination is overactive, so yeah, that must be it.

Nodding to himself, Stiles continues reading his book.

* * *

After the first instance, Stiles doesn't feel the presence again for a whole week. He didn't even recall it the following morning, but he is reminded of it when, just like the first time, he is reading late at night and he feels it. He tells himself that it's still just his imagination, but unlike the previous week, the presence doesn't go away after a few minutes. It lingers for longer, but yet again Stiles can't see any evidence of him not being alone in his bedroom.

He doesn't sleep at all that night.

* * *

Stiles tells his dad in the morning.

"What do you mean, 'someone was watching you'?" the sheriff asks him from where he stands at the stove in the kitchen, cooking bacon and scrambled eggs in two frying pans. He sounds worried, and when he looks back over his shoulder at where Stiles is perched on a stool at the island, his eyebrows are pulled together into a deep frown.

"I mean someone was watching me," Stiles replies, swinging his legs in the air.

"Did you see anyone?"

"No. It was just a feeling I got a couple times."

"When?"

"Uhh…" Stiles falters, unwilling to reveal that he has been staying up way past his bedtime. But even with his silence, his dad guesses correctly right away.

"Stiles, you should be sleeping!"

"I know," the boy pouts, bringing his legs to a halt. He looks down at the clean white surface beneath his palms. "S'just hard sometimes."

His dad sighs and brings the frying pans over to the island, where he divvies their contents up between the two plates that are already there with freshly cooked hash browns. "I want you to go to sleep at a good time tonight, Stiles," he orders, his voice stern but his face sympathetic. The subject of Stiles' dreams isn't a secret, not when he has woken the sheriff up several times in the middle of the night by screaming for his mom. "I mean it. You'll fall behind in school if you're so tired you can barely concentrate, and then your grades will suffer."

"But—"

"And this 'presence'? It's not real, son. It's all in your head. Just ignore it and go to sleep."

Even at eight years old, Stiles knows when not to argue a losing fight. "Fine," he acquiesces, digging into his breakfast when his dad slides one of the plates toward him.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Stiles tries not to think about the presence. He is successful throughout the days, when he has school to focus on and then a few hours hanging out with his best friend Scott at one of their houses. But when the nights come and it's just him in the dark of his bedroom, Stiles' mind always goes back to the presence, even though it doesn't come for the vast majority of them. He can't stop thinking about what it is and whether or not it means him any harm. He doesn't believe it does, or else it surely wouldn't hide and would have just eaten him by now or something. This belief only grows stronger as the nights wear on.

Gradually, the times it doesn't show up become fewer and fewer, until the presence keeps Stiles company almost every single night. He gets used to it, and on the rare instance it isn't there, he actually feels lonely. He is certain now that he isn't in danger with it around. Something about it feels friendly, curious, wanting. The last emotion had confused him for a while, but he doesn't care anymore.

* * *

Nine months after the first time Stiles felt the presence, he is worried. It has been several days since the last time he felt it, and he doesn't know what to do. It's not like he can go out and search for it. He wouldn't even know where to start, and the thought of getting caught sneaking out of the house after dark is enough to deter him from trying anyway.

Especially given that his dad has been particularly worked up recently.

There was some big furore at the beginning of the week, some fire in the preserve that surrounds Beacon Hills which killed a bunch of people who lived in a house there, and his dad has been very busy with the ensuing investigation. As a result, the man is exhausted and irritable a lot of the time. He doesn't take it out on Stiles—in fact, he obviously works hard to keep all of that away from his son—but Stiles doesn't want to test him anyway. Some part of him wonders whether the fire and the apparent disappearance of the presence are connected. It would be a pretty big coincidence if they aren't, but Stiles can't figure out what connection that could have.

On the sixth night since he last felt the presence, he stays awake past his bedtime again and hopes that it will show up. He doesn't stay awake to avoid nightmares of his dead mother anymore; he hasn't for months. Instead he does it just to feel the strange comfort and reassurance that the presence provides, which he misses dearly now that it no longer seems to be coming around. He wonders if it's gone for good.

He prays it's not.

* * *

The presence doesn't return for over seven years. During that time, Stiles gradually forgets about it, the other parts of his life taking precedent until he thinks of it less and less and then just stops altogether. At sixteen years old, the only reason he stays up late now is to finish homework he foolishly left until the last minute or to binge-watch whole seasons of TV shows over the weekends.

Stiles never has other plans, not until the end of winter break in his sophomore year. He is walking down the hall to use the bathroom when he overhears his dad talking to one of his deputies on the phone downstairs. There has been a body of a woman found in the preserve, and the sheriff is being called in to investigate it. Stiles stays on the landing, his full bladder forgotten as he listens to his dad talk and confirm that he'll be leaving for the preserve shortly. He hears him hang up the call and then approach the bottom of the stairs, so Stiles scurries back to his bedroom, throws himself into his desk chair and pretends to get on with an essay for English on his laptop, just in case his dad checks on him.

Which is exactly what happens.

"I have to go out for the night," the sheriff says, barging in without knocking.

Stiles glances over his shoulder, acting casual. "Oh. Anything important?" he asks.

"Maybe, but I don't know for sure yet. Get to bed at a good time, okay? You go back to school tomorrow."

Stiles resists rolling his eyes. "I know."

His dad watches him for a few seconds before exiting his bedroom. Stiles remains sitting at his desk, listening for the sounds of the front door opening and closing and the sheriff's cruiser starting up outside. It doesn't take long, and then Stiles prepares.

He grabs a flashlight and his red hoodie before taking the stairs two at a time and navigating to Scott's contact information on his phone. He has just hit Dial and held the device up to his ear when he unlocks the front door after his dad had locked it and opens it. Just as the call connects and he hears Scott's tired and confused voice, Stiles takes one step outside and freezes under his dad's disappointed and scornful stare.

"Never mind," Stiles says into his phone before disconnecting the call.

"Where do you think you're going, son?" his dad enquires, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Uh…nowhere?"

"That's right. You're going nowhere except for school for two weeks. You're grounded."

" _What_?!" Stiles squawks, outraged. "Just for trying to sneak out once?"

"Don't pretend like we both don't know where you were planning to go, Stiles," the sheriff chastises.

"I was just going to see Scott," Stiles tries, but it's useless.

His dad sees right thought him, grabs his arm and manhandles him back inside the house. "Do you want to try that again?" he says, shutting the door with a slam. "And this time, try not to lie or I'll add a third week onto your sentence."

"Fine," Stiles sighs, defeated. "I was gonna go check out the body. Happy?"

"No, I'm not happy, Stiles! This could very well turn into a serious investigation. You're old enough now to know better."

Suitably chided, Stiles apologises and hangs his head. His dad releases him and orders him to go upstairs to bed with the repeated threat of a prolonged grounding if he tries to break curfew again. Stiles shuts his bedroom door and sags against the back of it, annoyed with his dad and with himself. He still thinks it would've been cool to try to find the body first, but being confined to his home for two whole weeks is enough to convince him to stay there. Plus, his dad _did_ have a point, as loath as Stiles is to admit it. While cool, it was also a pretty stupid idea.

When the sound of his dad's cruiser fades into the distance, Stiles doesn't feel like doing anything. He just strips out of his clothes, slides beneath his bedsheets and shuts his eyes.

* * *

For the next two weeks, Stiles returns home straight after school lets out every weekday and stays cooped up in his room over the weekends. It's stifling, but he supposes that's what makes it a good punishment. He gets through it by telling himself that there wasn't much he would be doing if he had the freedom to go out anyway, what with his lack of a social life and all.

Stiles doesn't try to intrude on the investigation again, but he still listens for any tidbit of information he can. He learns that the body belonged to Laura Hale, whose family was the one who died in the house fire years ago. Why she was back in town remains a mystery to everyone, but her younger brother, Derek, is apparently back, too. Stiles learns that several other people have been killed, seemingly with no connection but too close together to ignore. He learns that the fire was arson, and the perpetrator was a woman named Kate Argent, a revelation that shocks the entire high school because her niece, Allison, had just started attending. He learns that Peter Hale was the one behind the recent killings, picking off the people who were responsible for the deaths of his family.

It's a lot to take in for everyone.

By the time Stiles is finally returned his freedom, Allison has left town again with her dad, much to Scott's dismay. Stiles attempts to cheer him up, but it doesn't work and in the end he has to just leave Scott to mourn the loss of his first relationship by himself.

It's just as the town is starting to settle down once more that Stiles feels it.

The presence. It's back.

Stiles lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling with wide eyes, hardly daring to believe it. Is it real, or is he just imagining it?

He keeps staring at the ceiling for a long time, revelling in the feeling of the presence and examining the minute changes to it. It still feels the same for the most part, but the curiosity is gone and something about it seems darker, less innocent. The wanting aspect is stronger, and Stiles is old enough now to comprehend that it's a sexual want. It doesn't freak him out at all, though. Finally, beneath all of that is a sadness—a pain—which makes Stiles want to comfort it.

Although he expects to see nothing like always did as a child, Stiles sits up, pushes the sheets back and gets out of bed. He doesn't turn on the lights and just peers through the darkness instead, searching for the source of the presence. As expected, for a while he doesn't find it. He is about to give up and accept that this is as close as he will ever get to it when, finally, he sees something different.

There, right outside of his window, are two small red dots.

Eyes.

They look right at him, and Stiles looks back into them, his heart racing. He steps toward the window until he is just a couple of inches away from the glass, never breaking eye contact with the presence on the other side. Up this close, he can discern a large black shape in the darkness. It's nothing more than a silhouette with barely any detail, but it's enough for Stiles to conjure an image in his head of what the presence looks like.

It's some sort of creature, animalistic, yet Stiles knows somehow that it has the intelligence to rival a human's. It must be incredibly tall, maybe seven feet or more, and the outline of the silhouette is clearly some sort of fur. Stiles has never heard of anything like it outside of a horror film, but, even with this thought, he doesn't see it as something that means him harm. He wants to see more.

Impatient, Stiles looks away from the red eyes and fumbles with the latch keeping his window closed. It takes him too long to unlock it, but when he succeeds, he curls his fingers beneath the wooden frame and pulls it up.

When he raises his eyes again, though, there is nothing there. The creature is gone.

Disappointed, Stiles sticks his head out of the window and scans his eyes over everything in sight, but there is no sign of it. Cursing himself because his actions must have scared it off, he shuts his window again and gets back into bed, his body beginning to shake from the cold that seeped into his bedroom. As he closes his eyes and tries to go to sleep, he silently sends a wish to whatever higher power may be listening that he didn't scare the creature off for good.

* * *

The very next night, Stiles sits on his bed and waits. It's close to midnight now and the creature still hasn't shown up again, which scares him. More minutes tick by, and even though Stiles hears the sound of his dad getting up to go to the bathroom, he doesn't remove his eyes from his closed window, not wanting to miss the red eyes if— _when_ —they appear.

It takes another half hour, but finally they do.

One second there is nothing but the darkness of night on the other side of the glass, and then he sees the creature.

"Hey," Stiles says quietly, knowing instinctively that it will understand him.

Predictably, the creature doesn't respond, but it doesn't vanish again, which Stiles takes as a good sign. Dressed in just a ratty old blue T-shirt and a pair of Batman boxer-briefs, he stands up and cautiously makes his way to the window, where he just stands there without trying to open it like before. He learned from his mistake. "Please don't leave again," he begs it, pressing his palm flat to the cool glass. "I want you to stay."

The creature does, its eyes flicking up and down over Stiles' form. It makes Stiles feel warm.

"I missed you when you were gone," he whispers.

The creature's eyes meet his again, and then Stiles gasps when he sees it move. He doesn't realise what has happened at first, but then he sees that one of its hands is pressed to the glass right opposite his. It's huge, over twice the size of his, which underlines just how big the creature must be.

"Will you run again if I open the window?" he asks, wondering if it can even answer.

Amazingly, the creature communicates back with a shake of its head, its red eyes moving side to side a couple of times before stilling again. Stiles grins, relief filling him as he unlocks his window with one hand—blindly this time, unwilling to break eye contact with the creature. It takes some more work and time, but when he has the window unlatched he grips the bottom of it and nearly vibrates with excitement because it's finally happening. He is finally going to meet the being that has been keeping him company on and off since he was a child. It almost feels too good to be true, but he doesn't let his mind wander there.

Instead, after taking a breath, Stiles pulls up the window and steps back.

The creature doesn't move for a few seconds, not until Stiles steps even further away and gestures for it to come inside.

Stiles knew it was gigantic, but as the creature clambers into his bedroom, he gapes because it seems even bigger than he'd thought. When it's all in and stands up tall, Stiles has to crane his neck back far just to look up into its eyes. Its head butts right up against the ceiling, and Stiles thinks that it's even hunching over slightly, meaning that what he is seeing isn't even its full height. In the dark of his room, he still can't see much else but a huge black shape, especially since it's standing in front of the window, blocking out any dim moonlight that might have otherwise spilled inside.

Stiles knows he should probably be terrified. Standing in front of him is a massive creature that is obviously otherworldly, but he just feels calm.

For a while he and the creature just keep staring at each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Stiles' bravery hasn't left him yet, so when he can't wait any longer he raises his hand and reaches out toward the creature, not breathing as his fingers get closer and closer to what he supposes is its stomach. When he touches it, the creature shudders, briefly closes its eyes and makes a low growling sound, but otherwise it doesn't do anything.

Like Stiles thought, it's covered in fur, but the fur is softer than he anticipated it would be. He runs his fingers through it and marvels at its silky quality, like it has been cleaned very recently. In fact, it feels similar to how the hair on Stiles' own head feels those rare times he can be bothered to use conditioner in the shower. He traces his hand sideways and moves it up higher, pausing when he reaches the creature's chest, which is impressively large. It's distinctly male and feels like it could belong to a bodybuilder, only it's covered in the same thick fur as the rest of the creature's body. Moving on, he reaches up as high as he can, which, even when standing on his tiptoes, is just enough to curl his fingers around the top of the creature's shoulder.

Heat radiates off of it, its body warmer than any Stiles has felt before. He can't help but wonder what it would feel like to be pressed up against it from head to toe.

Luckily for him, the creature seems to be thinking similarly.

It tires of standing still and brings its arms up as well. It curls them around Stiles and slowly pulls him in until he is held tight against it and he has to turn his head to the side to avoid being suffocated by fur. It's like the creature is hugging him. It's the best hug he has ever had, and he is overcome with an odd sense of safety and…home. He isn't sure where the thought comes from, but he sinks into it and attempts to embrace the creature back.

It's like trying to hug the trunk of a tree, so thick he can't get his arms all the way around it. He settles for what he can hold, his palms flat against the sides of its back, and smiles. They stand this way for a long time, until Stiles' tiredness begins to catch up to him and he stifles a yawn against the creature's sternum. The creature notices this, and in a move that further proves to Stiles that it possesses intelligence greater than some base animal, it picks him up gently, like he is something precious, and moves him back over to his bed.

Stiles, stunned, doesn't struggle at all, the only protest he offers being a warning. "I don't think it could handle both of our weights and my dad would kill me if it got broken," he says quietly. Part of him is unwilling to go to sleep anyway, because he doesn't want the creature to leave him again yet.

He clings to it when it readjusts him and he hears the sound of fabric gliding quickly over fabric. He can't see what the creature is doing, but he remains docile when it lowers itself to the floor and spreads itself out, lying down on its back with Stiles draped over the top of it. In spite of how hard its muscles are, its fur provides enough cushioning that the position is incredibly comfortable, especially when Stiles' sheets are then thrown over both of them, which he guesses it stripped from his mattress. Lastly, the creature's arms come around him once more, keeping him securely cradled against its body—like he would even think of leaving.

Its high body heat is enough to combat the cool air still pouring in through the open window, and before Stiles can stop it, his eyes drift closed and he falls asleep.

* * *

It becomes something of a routine for them.

After the first morning, when Stiles wakes up tucked into bed like it was all a wonderful dream, every night the creature comes in through his window—which he just keeps open now—and they'll go to sleep together on his bedroom floor. Stiles has never slept better, and because he loves cuddling with the creature, he actually can't wait for the sun to go down every day, which has never been the case before.

He hated being sent to bed as a child because it was so much earlier than his parents' usual bedtime and he felt left out. Then it was because he had nightmares of his dead mother. Then he stayed awake to complete outstanding schoolwork or because there was so much media to consume—books, TV shows, movies, music—that he just didn't feel like he had enough time for it all in the few hours he got after school each weekday.

For a few weeks this routine goes on with no change. Every night, Stiles feels their connection growing stronger, to the point where he almost thinks he can read the creature's thoughts. It's nothing like hearing another voice in his head, and there aren't even really words. It's more like he gets impressions of emotions that he knows aren't his, which leads to him referring to the creature as 'him' instead of 'it'. The creature feels deep affection for him, but there is also possessiveness, something that should be a red flag for Stiles but isn't. In fact, he likes the idea of belonging to the creature. It just feels right, like that's how things are supposed to be.

Tying in with the affection and possessiveness, there is still that sense of wanting. It has always been there, but it's stronger now, and Stiles has started to reciprocate.

As his connection to the creature becomes so deep he doesn't think anything could break it, Stiles' curiosity grows. He already went through one sexual awakening when he realised that he didn't look at the girls in his class like the other boys did. But apparently he wasn't done discovering himself, because in the short spaces of time between the creature arriving and him falling asleep on the perfect pillow of his chest, he can't stop himself from wondering what it would be like to be with him in that way.

The creature is so big and strong. He feels and smells amazing, like the forest mixed with a distinctly masculine musk, all of which puts images in Stiles' head—of the creature being on top of him…inside of him, however that would work. He is usually too close to sleep whenever those thoughts come to actually do anything about them, but whenever they strike he feels the creature's arms tighten around him, like he is thinking the same thing.

Apart from the few details he got the first night, Stiles still doesn't know exactly what the creature looks like. The lights always stay off, and he is usually tired enough by that point that he doesn't even think of using his hands as his eyes again. Truthfully, the creature's appearance doesn't really matter. He can tell that he's good and loves him, and that's enough for Stiles to love him back.

One Friday a couple of months into their routine, the sheriff is out working and will be all night. The sun has been down for about an hour, which means that the creature will show up very soon, but for once Stiles doesn't want him to arrive just yet.

No, he's too horny for that, and the urge to jerk off is too strong to resist.

He thinks he has enough time if he is quick about it—and as a sixteen-year-old virgin, he doesn't have that much stamina anyway. He sits on his bed with just a T-shirt on and his laptop open in front of him, his underwear somewhere on the floor. He moves his hand fast over his dick and watches a huge bear of a man pound the ass of a skinny twink. Because he is so in the moment and he has his earphones in even though his dad isn't there—it's habitual—he doesn't hear when the creature comes in through the open window.

Just when the scene is about to reach its climax, Stiles jerks off even faster, aiming to come at the same time as the top. It's a little game he has played since he first started masturbating to porn like this, and he has the timing almost down to a science now. He watches the top in the video thrust hard into the bottom, and right when they pull out and finish themselves off with their hand with the clear intention of painting the bottom's ass with their come, Stiles finally sees movement in his room.

Knowing automatically that it's the creature, he immediately stops touching himself and makes a hasty grab for the sheets, which he pulls up to cover himself even though it's far too late for that. His laptop is nearly sent crashing to the floor in his haste, his earphones ripping from his ears, but he saves it at the last second and slams it shut to stop the video from finishing. After placing it delicately on his nightstand, Stiles dares to look at the creature and feels his face heat up, his cheeks probably as red as the creature's eyes. He doesn't know how he expects him to react, but he is surprised when he discovers a heat to his eyes that has nothing to do with their colour.

"Uhh…hi?" Stiles greets, his voice cracking at the end, making it sound like a question.

The creature tilts his head to the side and then stalks forward. Stiles can't see much in the dark, especially not when his eyes haven't adjusted entirely to the lack of light from his laptop screen, but he can still discern the creature reaching for the sheets.

"Don't!" Stiles exclaims, gripping them tightly in his fists.

The creature hesitates and looks at him again, but after a few seconds he grabs the sheets anyway and pulls them away from Stiles. The boy attempts in vain to hold on to them in order to keep whatever remains of his modesty, but it's useless; the creature is much stronger than him, and to prevent the sheets from ripping he has to let go, allowing his partial nudity to be uncovered again.

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said it wasn't what it looked like?" Stiles asks, hiding his softening dick with his hands instead.

The creature throws the sheets to the floor and then looks off to the side. Stiles follows his gaze and frowns when he discovers that it rests on the lamp atop his bedside table. Still covering himself with his left hand, he removes his right from between his legs and reaches for it, returning his eyes to the creature before he actually switches it on.

"Is this what you want?" he asks, just to make sure.

The creature nods.

Swallowing tightly, Stiles pushes the button and gasps when he finally sees the creature in all his glory.

He looks like a mixture of human and wolf. Distantly Stiles wonders if he's a werewolf of some kind, which briefly leads him on a tangent in which he ponders the possible implications of that—if werewolves are real, then what other kinds of supernatural creatures are real? It's enough to give him a headache, so he stops thinking about it and simply concentrates on cataloguing every aspect of the awe-inspiring beast waiting patiently next to his bed.

His fur is blacker than night, with a healthy shine that catches the light from the bedside lamp. Stiles has already touched parts of the creature's—the werewolf's—musculature many times, but the image he'd constructed in his head is nothing compared to the real thing. His muscles are so large that Stiles is sure he could tear down the entire house if he wanted to. And yet he still isn't intimidated. If anything, the hints of arousal he has recently begun to feel just before going to sleep atop the beast only get stronger, his dick hardening again against the cup of his hand. He imagines how easy it would be for the creature to take him, hold him down and have his naughty way with him.

It's a dizzying fantasy.

Elsewhere, Stiles looks down and admires the rest of the werewolf, bypassing his crotch for the time being. The impressive size of the beast's muscles continues with his legs, which lose their human anatomy halfway down. Instead of human-shaped ankles and feet, his ankles jut forward in the hock joints of a wolf and he basically has paws instead of feet, with sharp claws in place of toenails. His hands are similar. They are still vaguely human in shape, which Stiles already knew, but his palms are spongey and here he has claws instead of nails, too.

Unable to put it off any longer—and not wanting to—Stiles moves his focus to the beast's crotch.

Between his thighs hang furry balls the size of oranges, above which is a plump sheath that seems to get bigger the longer Stiles looks at it. He finds out why when, after almost a full minute, he gets his first glimpse of the beast's reddish-pink cock, the tapered tip beginning to peek out. Stiles' mouth waters at the sight.

"Do you…?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when a trail of drool escapes. "D'you wanna do something?"

For his answer, the werewolf grabs both of Stiles' ankles and drags him off of his bed. He is cradled against the wolf and then deposited atop the sheets on the floor, where he lies on his back and stares up at him. He appears even taller from this angle, and Stiles forgets entirely about hiding his cock when the werewolf gets down on his knees and brings their heads close together. He breathes through his open muzzle, hot breath fanning out across Stiles' face and his sharp fangs glinting in the lamplight. With hands that shake from how turned on he is, Stiles reaches up and scratches behind the werewolf's pointed ears, causing him to close his eyes and make a growling sound similar to a cat's purr. Stiles also hears a thumping sound and twists his head around until he can see the werewolf's long tail wagging back and forth across the hardwood floor, hitting his bed frame.

Adorable.

"I can't believe this is happening," he whispers, stopping his scratching and moving his hands down to the werewolf's thick neck instead.

The werewolf opens his red eyes and stares down at Stiles before licking a broad stripe up the side of his face, coating him in slobber. It should be gross—he has been grossed out anytime he has been around a dog and it got a bit too enthusiastic with licking him, especially his face—but for some reason Stiles finds it hot here. He loves the rough texture of the werewolf's tongue against his soft skin, and he doesn't complain when the action is repeated more than once.

The werewolf licks over every inch of Stiles' face before moving lower, to his neck. Stiles throws his head back to give him easier access and goes completely still when, instead of licking, the werewolf gently clamps his jaws over the stretch of skin between his neck and left shoulder. He keeps holding himself still because he can very clearly feel the threat of the werewolf's fangs piercing his skin. He doesn't know whether he wants to be bitten or not, but the werewolf decides for him by increasing the pressure until his skin gives way.

Stiles' eyes go wide at the bright flash of pain. It's like burning needles digging into his flesh. He tangles his fingers in the fur at the back of the wolf's head but doesn't try to pull him away, some instinct in him telling him that, in spite of the bite, the werewolf won't actually hurt him. This was just a necessity, and he discovers why when, as the werewolf releases him and licks over the wound, his being is flooded by another. It's similar to the impressions of emotions Stiles had been getting from the beast, but they're clearer now and come with actual thoughts and information. Like the beast's name.

"Derek!" Stiles gasps, amazed. "That's your name, isn't it?"

The werewolf huffs once as a yes.

Derek Hale, the man whose family mostly died in the fire in the preserve years ago and whose sister and uncle were killed recently. Damn.

Stiles has seen pictures of Derek Hale before, in his dad's files which were left out on the dining room table one evening, and in the local newspaper, which he'd scoured for more information once the fire was solved. It's strange that the beast on top of him is the gorgeous man from those photographs, but at the same time it makes sense. He'd felt drawn to the man in the photos in a very similar way to how he has been increasingly drawn to the beast over the past few months. It was just weaker, probably because that was all they were: photographs.

When he stops thinking about all of that, Stiles hears two more words clear as day: 'mate', and more vividly, ' _mine_ '. He just knows that this is why Derek had loitered outside of his window all this time, because it's not just a feeling; they do actually belong together.

It's kismet.

"Derek, please…" Stiles begs, not sure what he is begging for but begging all the same.

The werewolf licks over the wound on his shoulder a couple more times, his saliva mitigating the pain, and then he gets up on his knees, wedges his hands beneath Stiles' arms and pulls him up as well. Stiles blinks dazedly at the sudden change in position. He waits for Derek to do something else, but he doesn't, just continues to kneel there in front of him. Stiles glances up at his face and discerns that he is waiting for something, but that something doesn't become clear until Stiles lowers his eyes to the werewolf's crotch.

Derek's lupine cock has emerged further from its sheath, dripping already with pre-come. It seems an even more shocking red now, tiny spiderweb veins running along its entire length. Stiles knows that this is what the werewolf wants when he jerks his hips forward and his cock comes out even further. Stiles wonders when it will end, because already it's almost as big as his entire forearm. How on earth that is going to get inside his ass is a mystery, because there is no question that that is what's going to happen. But in the end, he decides to stop worrying about it and put his trust entirely in Derek. He is sure that the werewolf will take good care of him.

Enticed by the foreign shape of the werewolf's cock, Stiles tentatively raises his hand and wraps it as best he can around the length. Like when he'd tried to hug Derek the first time he entered his bedroom, his cock is so thick that Stiles can't get his hand all the way around it, his fingers and thumb not even close to touching.

"Damn…" Stiles gapes.

He uses the werewolf's pre-come to slick the way as he strokes up and down along his cock, fascinated by how different it feels from his own. There isn't soft skin to move over a hardness beneath. Instead, Derek's cock is just a solid weight, the surface of it smooth but without any give at all. He swipes his index finger over the pointed tip and brings his finger up to his mouth to lick up the wetness he gathers, his eyebrows meeting in a frown as the salty taste of it bursts across his tongue. He isn't sure if he likes it, but it was a small sample. He is still curious and needs more of it to decide properly.

"Sit back," Stiles instructs, shoving lightly against Derek's firm stomach.

The werewolf obeys, moving off of his knees and sitting down atop the rumpled sheets. Stiles pushes his powerful legs apart and crawls between them on his hands and knees so that he can get up close and personal with Derek's junk.

By this point, Stiles thinks the entirety of the werewolf's cock has come out of the sheath, and just like he thought, when he holds his arm up against it to compare their size, he finds that they are basically the same width and length, somewhere between twelve and thirteen inches long, by his estimation. At the base it widens even further in a slightly misshapen ball that Stiles vaguely knows is called a knot, which is designed to keep him and Derek locked together so that Derek can fill him with his seed and knock him up with his pups.

For obvious reasons, Stiles doesn't think it's actually possible for him to become pregnant—unless there is something he doesn't know about werewolf biology, which could definitely be the case—but the idea of his stomach being round and heavy with Derek's child does things to him he never thought it would. Apparently he has a breeding kink now. Huh.

Derek is content to let Stiles get accustomed with his massive junk at his own pace, a consideration that the teenager appreciates. With one hand, he reaches for the werewolf's low-hanging balls and attempts to weigh them on his palm. It's a struggle to get them both to fit, considering their size, so Stiles ends up having to use both hands, each cupping one of them. They feel heavy and full, the fine fur covering them even softer than the fur on the rest of Derek's body. He gives them a light tug and grins when Derek huffs again above him.

"You like that?" Stiles asks, looking up at the werewolf's face through his eyelashes.

Derek's eyes blaze down into his, and he knows that the answer is yes.

"I thought so. Now, onto the next part. You can do this…"

The last sentence is said to himself as he gears up to play with the massive length in front of him. He releases Derek's balls and traces his fingers up Derek's cock. Its animalistic shape is disgusting and wrong—or at least Stiles thinks it would be to the majority of people. But Stiles isn't like them. He isn't at all sickened by how Derek's wolf cock looks. No, he thinks he might actually be kind of in love with it already, and he just has to get his mouth on it.

"Gonna suck you," he murmurs, shuffling closer.

Derek is evidently eager to get Stiles' mouth on his cock, too, because he spreads his legs even wider and leans back on his arms to better accommodate him.

"So fucking hot," Stiles says, now so close to the werewolf's sex that it's all he can smell. It's a musky and heady thing.

He grips the base of Derek's cock, right where the knot is, and holds it steady while he wraps his lips around the tip. He bobs his head experimentally and isn't surprised when he can't get more than a couple of inches in before it becomes a real struggle.

It isn't even its staggering length that's the problem, but its girth. Already it stretches Stiles' lips wide and makes his jaw ache, making it clear that he will likely never be able to take more than those two or three inches in his mouth. Slightly disappointed but not put off, Stiles just suckles on what little he can handle, swirling his tongue around it and prodding at the tapered tip, getting the taste of Derek's bitter pre-come right from the source. It's an acquired taste, that much Stiles figures out right then. It's still not something he would call delicious, but already he likes it more than he had when he'd sucked a drop of it off of his finger. He guesses that the more he tastes it, the more he will like it, like the start of his relationship with coffee.

As Stiles keeps sucking on what he can manage of Derek's cock like a lollipop, he notices that Derek's hips are twitching like he wants to fuck up into Stiles' mouth but is restraining himself. Stiles is glad because that would probably hurt him, but he sympathises with the impulse and uses one hand to stroke up and down the many inches he can't take past his lips, while with the other he grips Derek's knot. He squeezes it rhythmically, hoping to emulate how it would feel to be gripped by his ass.

Derek's growls get louder and the amount of thin pre-come spurting out onto Stiles' tongue increases the longer this goes on, until Stiles is certain that the werewolf is close.

He wants to be showered in his come, but that isn't on the cards—at least not yet—because in the next second, Derek plucks him off of his cock and flips him upside down so that the tops of his thighs drape across Derek's shoulders. He can feel the wolf's hot breaths against his ass, making him squirm in his hold but unable to actually break free.

Stiles braces himself by putting his hands on Derek's legs and finds that, if he tilts his head right, he can keep suckling on Derek's cock.

A win-win situation.

While he suckles, the werewolf leans in close to Stiles' ass and begins sloppily rimming him, getting more slobber everywhere. That long, rough tongue slips between his smooth cheeks and swirls around his virgin hole, which has Stiles moaning around Derek's cock. It's difficult to relax himself in his current position, but Derek's arms are wrapped tightly around him and he knows the wolf won't drop him, so he tries to release all of the tension in his lower body so that his hole opens up easier under Derek's ministrations. His efforts, combined with the strength in Derek's tongue, mean that the slick muscle soon slips past the resistance of his hole. Derek's tongue is long and wriggles deep up in Stiles' insides, making him shake when it brushes up against his prostate.

For a few minutes things continue in this fashion, Stiles with his mouth around the tip of Derek's cock and Derek with his tongue up Stiles' ass, but eventually all the blood rushing to his head makes Stiles feel dizzy in an unpleasant way, so he pulls off of the werewolf's cock with a wet pop and asks to be put down. Derek complies immediately, carefully helping him to lie down on his back atop his bed, his legs hanging off of the edge.

Stiles stares at the ceiling as he waits for the blood in his head to return to the rest of his body. He hears movement below him but he doesn't look at what Derek is doing until the bottle of lube he had been using to aid him in jerking off earlier is thrown on top of his chest.

"You want me to…?" he asks Derek, looking down at the werewolf's hands and concluding that, yes, those claws going anywhere hear his hole would be a _very_ bad thing.

Derek nods, so Stiles fumbles with the bottle, pops the cap and drizzles some of the lube onto his fingers. He drops the bottle on the mattress next to him, uses his dry hand to pull back his legs and reaches down to his ass with the other.

His hole is still wet with Derek's saliva, but the lube makes it easier to finger himself open. Derek's tongue did a decent enough job, enabling Stiles to stick two fingers straight in without any pain, so he starts scissoring them apart to stretch himself out even further. He can feel Derek's eyes and peers up at him, his confidence growing enough to add a third finger when he sees the unadulterated lust in the werewolf's blood-red eyes. He knows the feeling, because just looking at Derek is enough to have him close to coming. His cock leaks pre-come against his stomach, but he doesn't dare touch it yet. He doesn't want to come without Derek inside of him, so he concentrates on making enough room for that to be possible without him being torn apart.

He wedges his pinky in with his other three fingers and flexes them, feeling absolutely obscene, like a wanton slut who is desperate to get fucked. If the shoe fits.

Once Stiles is sure he can't stretch himself out any further, he removes his fingers and right away, when it is hit with cool air, his hole tries to clench up tight again, but it can't. He has never felt so open before, and he knows that this is nothing. When Derek is done with him… Part of Stiles doesn't want to even imagine how wrecked his hole will look, but the other half is curious despite itself. Maybe he'll take a picture or get creative with a mirror.

"Okay…I think I'm ready," Stiles says, his voice husky.

Derek steps forward and gets back down on his knees, putting his cock at the perfect height to fuck Stiles. He doesn't begin for a few moments, though, instead positioning his cock so that it lays flat over Stiles' balls and much smaller human length, completely dwarfing him. He thrusts lazily a few times, adding his own pre-come to the small pool in Stiles' stomach. Stiles should probably be offended or at least feel emasculated by the sheer different in their size, but as with the entire run-up to this, he is just aroused.

With one last syrupy thrust, Derek pulls back and uses one of his hands to point the tip of his cock at Stiles' hole.

Stiles makes sure not to tense up when he feels it press against him like a filthy kiss. He is grateful that Derek doesn't just thrust right in but instead increases the pressure a little at a time, forcing his cock inside millimetre by millimetre. The fact that the tip is tapered helps greatly, and soon enough Stiles thinks he has a couple of inches up his ass. The width of Derek's cock is already close to being more than four of Stiles' fingers, but the boy just takes deep breaths to push through the burn and urges Derek to keep going by wiggling his hips slightly.

The werewolf does so, taking Stiles' ankles in his large hands and watching himself enter his smaller mate's body.

With another couple of inches, Stiles gasps out that he needs a break, which Derek gives him. He had anticipated it being difficult, but anticipation didn't actually prepare him for the pain. It feels like someone shoved a fist up his ass, and no amount of deep breathing is enough to erase the hurt of that. His cock flags and his eyes sting with tears which he blinks away, not wanting to do anything that may cause Derek to bring a premature end to the proceedings.

In spite of the pain, Stiles doesn't want to give up yet. He just needs time.

When enough has passed and the hurt has lessened to something bearable, Stiles once again gives Derek the go-ahead and is surprised when, instead of pushing more of himself inside, the werewolf slowly withdraws. Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but then, when just the very tip remains in his ass, Derek moves his hips forward once more.

The werewolf does this several times, and Stiles realises that he is doing this to give his ass a chance to become better accustomed to being stuffed so full. It works, and after a short while of being fucked with just the first three or four inches of Derek's cock, it doesn't hurt anywhere near as much and Derek is able to resume feeding him the rest of his length.

Only this time, the werewolf releases one of his ankles and presses his hand to Stiles' stomach instead. The reason why isn't immediately apparent, but then the resurgence of pain as he is filled up even further becomes muted, like something is blocking it. Stiles peers up at Derek's face, which is tensed with concentration, and figures out that Derek must be doing something to help him through this, using some sort of arcane werewolf power or skill or whatever which relieves pain. He is amazed, and the researcher in him can't wait until this is all over and he can quiz Derek about every aspect of werewolf physiology.

But of course, the rest of him wants to enjoy what is happening first.

While any pain or discomfort remains muted, Stiles is glad to discover that he can still feel all the good parts. Derek keeps thrusting in and out of his ass, going a little deeper every time he thrusts in, and Stiles is shaken by how good the simple in-and-out motion feels against his no-longer-virginal walls. Nerve endings he hadn't realised he had are stimulated, causing him to shiver, goosebumps breaking out down his arms. Every couple of times, Derek's cock glances off of his prostate, and already Stiles is whimpering and whining because of it.

If this is how it feels now, Stiles is certain that he will be a sobbing puddle of pleasure when Derek is fucking him for real.

It takes a long time for the werewolf to sink nearly all the way inside Stiles' ass. By then, Stiles has one of his hands fisted in the sheet covering his mattress and the other gripping Derek's wrist where he continues to drain his pain. The only part of Derek's cock that isn't inside of him is the knot, which Stiles doesn't think he will be able to take no matter what. He is saddened by this knowledge, but he really doesn't want to have to go to the hospital and explain the injuries the knot would likely give him.

"God, I'm so full…" Stiles says breathlessly, his whole body shaking. He has never felt quite so vulnerable, his whole being feeling like it has been split open for Derek to see and take possession of. He gives himself over willingly.

After remaining buried up to the knot for several seemingly interminable minutes, Derek cautiously stops leeching off Stiles' pain and removes his hand from the teenager's barely there abs. He looks poised to put it right back again in case Stiles finds it too much when full feeling is returned to his body. It _is_ a lot, crashing into him like a tidal wave, but he can bear it now.

He lifts his head off of the bed and looks down at himself, his eyes practically bugging out of their sockets when he sees his stomach—or rather, when he sees how distended it is.

He can literally see where Derek's cock has carved a place for itself inside of him. Stiles prods it with his finger and marvels at the fact that it doesn't hurt. All that happens is that Derek growls above him and his hands tighten around Stiles' ankles.

The boy gives a short laugh. "That's…that's really something."

Derek growls again, giving his agreement.

When Stiles is finished with his inspection, he looks back up at Derek and nods at him, giving him his permission to move. The werewolf does so, his hands keeping Stiles' legs up in the air as he withdraws nearly all the way, leaving Stiles feeling hollowed out. Already he misses the fullness, so he moans his pleasure when Derek fucks back in again, slow as molasses. It goes on like this for almost five minutes, the feeble resistance Stiles' ass puts up against the thick length filling it disappearing entirely. It opens up so that Derek slides back inside more easily each time, accepting Derek's massive cock like it belongs there, buried almost to the base.

"You feel so good," Stiles gasps, his eyes rolling back in his head because Derek is thick enough to basically press against his prostate all the time.

Derek makes that growling sound Stiles is growing to love and releases his ankles, letting them drop so that the boy's legs are slung wide around his waist. Stiles feels heat atop him and manages to focus his vision enough to see that Derek is now hunched over him, his muscular arms above Stiles' head and his chest right in front of Stiles' face. The human wraps his arms around Derek and pulls them the rest of the way together, his nose ending up in the silky fur of Derek's left pectoral.

It's a good place to be, filled with and surrounded so completely by Derek that there is no room for anything else. It's like the werewolf is all that exists in Stiles' world.

While Derek fucks him, Stiles nuzzles into the fur against his face and breathes him in, his nostrils filling with the beast's familiar earthy musk. He feels something catch against his lips after a while and opens his mouth to take it in, knowing right away that it's Derek's nipple. He sucks on it and bites it gently between his teeth, the attention causing it to harden and Derek's thrusts to momentarily become jerky before speeding up.

Before Stiles knows it, he is being fucked within an inch of his life, his bed creaking dangerously as the frame is rocked back and forth. It's all he can do to hold on and not pass out from how amazing it feels, fireworks going off behind his eyelids. He digs his short nails into Derek's back and knows he would be leaving red lines down it were it not for the fur covering it. He can feel Derek's knot battering against his poor hole, trying to get inside but unable to achieve it.

Stiles' cock is trapped between them, hard again and rubbing against Derek's stomach. Already he can tell he is close to coming. He releases the werewolf's nipple and tries to get out a warning, but he is unable to speak coherently and all he can do is wail brokenly against Derek's chest when he climaxes, come smearing across his skin and matting in the werewolf's fur.

Stiles clenches down on Derek's cock and sobs when he just keeps coming in what is undoubtedly the most all-consuming orgasm of his young life, so intense that he can't seem to get enough oxygen in his lungs. The constant press of Derek's length against his prostate prolongs it past what he thought was possible, and when it finally ends he thinks he must have actually blacked out for a short time, because when he comes to, Derek is no longer moving in him.

Picking his arms up from where they had flopped down on the sheets, Stiles wedges them between their bodies and pushes at Derek's chest until the werewolf picks himself up, red eyes boring down into his. He still can't think clearly, so it takes him a second to figure out that Derek hadn't come as well. The great beast is just giving him another break.

"Ugh, how much stamina do you have?" he groans, half delighted, half just wanting to go to sleep.

Derek practically radiates smugness.

Stiles chuckles. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…you're awesome. What's next? 'Cause lemme tell you, I don't think my ass can take much more abuse."

Although Stiles can tell that he wants to keep fucking him, Derek is merciful and pulls out instead. Stiles is left sore and incredibly empty, a loathsome feeling, but he tamps it down when Derek stands at his full height and begins stroking himself with one hand while squeezing his knot with the other. Even now, as he watches the werewolf bring himself off, Stiles can't believe that that huge cock mostly fit inside of him. He stares at it in wonderment, at the way Derek's heavy balls swing between his thighs, until the werewolf throws his head back, howls at the ceiling and shoots.

Stiles just manages to get a hand in front of his eyes to shield himself before he is drenched in Derek's seed. The werewolf comes and comes and comes, each jet of thin semen spurting forth from the lupine cock splattering across Stiles' exposed flesh.

When Derek finally stops coming, he releases himself and catches his breath. While he does that, Stiles lowers his arm and takes in the state of himself. Every inch of him is wet, and he is sure that, no matter how well he showers, he is going to reek of werewolf come for days. Something about that thought has his cock giving a valiant twitch where it lies flaccid against his thigh, but with the orgasm he'd had, there is no way he is getting hard again. It's like he is lying in a lake of jizz. He knows the sheets are a lost cause, and probably the mattress as well. How the hell he is going to explain that to his dad is lost on him.

"You're paying for a new mattress," Stiles mumbles.

He swipes his fingers through the mess on his torso and sucks them in his mouth. He was right about Derek's come being an acquired taste, and by the time he has cleaned off most of his front he thinks he may just be addicted to it. Swirling his last mouthful around with his tongue to savour it, Stiles looks back up at Derek and rolls his eyes when he finds that the werewolf has obviously been raptly watching him.

"You're ridiculous," he comments with a facetiously put-out sigh. Thinking that he won't get a response of any kind, Stiles is stunned when Derek's form starts shrinking.

He jerks upright so that he is sitting up, wincing slightly when the new position puts pressure on his ruined hole. He is just beginning to panic when the shrinking stops, Derek's black fur recedes and then standing in front of him is the man behind the beast.

At just over six feet, Derek is still tall, but his head doesn't touch the ceiling in this form. He is just as gorgeous as Stiles remembers from the pictures he'd seen. Actually, he is even more so, Stiles concludes. The photographs didn't do him justice. Derek is a work of art, and Stiles knows his mouth is hanging open and he looks like a total idiot, but he can't bring himself to care. He runs his eyes over every inch of Derek's human appearance, from his bearded face to his body.

The werewolf still has considerable muscle mass in this form, and a lot of his front is covered in fine dark hairs instead of fur. Stiles moves his eyes down from Derek's hairy chest to the treasure trail that starts at his bellybutton and descends into untrimmed pubes around a flaccid cock. This human version is more than proportional, hanging at several inches between Derek's thighs even when soft, the foreskin covering the head. Stiles wonders if he has a knot in this form, too, and if he could take that one.

Finishing his inspection, Stiles peers up at Derek's face just in time to witness the red of his irises bleeding away into a beautiful hazel colour.

Stiles feels shy all of sudden under his scrutiny. "Uh…hi."

"Hi," Derek responds, his voice deep and silky. Something inside Stiles uncoils at the mere sound of it.

"We just had sex," Stiles says, cringing at himself immediately afterward.

Derek smirks. "We did."

"And you're a werewolf."

"I am."

"And I'm your mate."

"You are."

Stiles blinks a couple of times. "What does that mean?"

Derek walks forward and stands between Stiles' knees, his smirk softening into a tender smile. "It means we're meant for each other."

"Like soulmates?"

"Something like that."

"And that's why I've always felt so drawn to you."

"Yes."

"Gotta say, it's kinda creepy that you were hanging outside my window when I was a kid," Stiles says, although he doesn't really mean it.

Derek huffs. "It wasn't like that."

"What do you mean."

"It wasn't sexual back then. I just wanted to be near you."

"Well, I _am_ irresistible," Stiles jokes, laughing to cover up how overwhelmed he feels.

"Yeah…you are," Derek says.

The candidness sucks the air from Stiles' lungs. He is about to speak again when he finds his mouth occupied by Derek's tongue. It's his first kiss—or the first one that counts for anything anyway. He knows he'll treasure it always.

"So, what happens now?" Stiles asks when the kiss ends.

"Now we go to sleep, and then we continue as we had been until you turn eighteen and can move in with me," Derek answers confidently.

"And…and my dad?"

"We can keep hiding it from him if you want."

"I think that'd probably be best. You're what? Twenty-three?"

"Twenty-four."

"Then yeah, we're definitely hiding it."

"Alright."

The two smile at each other for a while, neither one feeling the need to say anything else—until Stiles yawns, that is.

"You're tired," Derek states.

"Duh," Stiles chuckles. "It _is_ pretty late and you just fucked my brains out."

Wordlessly, Derek helps Stiles down from the bed and the two curl up together in the sheets that are still on the floor. Stiles feels tacky with Derek's thin wolf come, but he is too tired to be bothered by it—and from the way Derek inhales audibly into his hair, the werewolf likes him this way anyway. The teenager is quick to fall asleep, and then the following morning is pleasantly surprised to find for the first time that Derek is still there.

They're on his bed now, Derek spooning him, which means that the werewolf must have moved them sometime during the night. When he looks blearily at his surroundings, his eyebrows climb up his forehead when he sees that the sheets have changed and he feels that the mattress is a bit more springy than it had been the night before.

"Did you clean up?" he asks when Derek moves behind him.

"It was my mess, so I thought you'd appreciate it."

"And the mattress?"

"You told me to get a new one, so I just brought mine here and got rid of your old one. It was no trouble."

"But what about you?" Stiles enquires concernedly, turning in the circle of Derek's arms.

"What about me?" Derek counters, looking unfairly handsome even when sleep-rumpled.

"Did you get yourself a new mattress to replace this one?"

Derek smirks. "Why would I do that? I don't plan on sleeping anywhere but here from now on, remember?"

Stiles blushes. "Oh."

For the next half hour or so, Stiles and Derek stay in bed together, slowly getting to know each other. Stiles learns of Derek's family and Derek learns of Stiles' mother. They learn each other's likes and dislikes, their favourite bands, TV shows and movies. By the time they finally manage to drag themselves out of bed, Stiles has never felt closer to anyone, and it's not just because of the connection they share through the mating bite on his shoulder, which is already a healed scar. They have breakfast together—waffles—and then, unfortunately, they have to say goodbye when Derek picks up on the sound of Stiles' dad's police cruiser in the distance.

"I'll miss you," Stiles pouts, standing at the front door.

Derek rolls his eyes and says, "It'll only be a few hours," but Stiles can tell that the werewolf will miss him as well.

With one last kiss, Derek leaves and Stiles shuts the door, unable to stop grinning.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was another extra long one. It marks the return of Derek's glorious wolf cock—and this time, it's supersized. All hail the massive wolf cock! Up next I'll be writing the next chapter of my current full-length fic [_When the Dust Has Settled_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812421/chapters/29247774) (check that out in you haven't already), and then I'll be filling another prompt, this one from Vergiss_Mein_Nicht. This will be a fluffy, Christmas-themed PWP involving snowball fights, hot cocoa and lots of lovemaking in front of a roaring fire, so stay tuned for that. ;)
> 
> If anyone has suggestions for other PWPs they would like to see me tackle, even if you've had a prompt filled by me before, feel free to leave them in a comment down below and, as long as they don't feature something I don't like, I'll try to make them happen. _All_ suggestions are welcome, as long as they're Sterek M/M. I'm really in the mood to write smut right now, so get it while the getting's good! ;)
> 
> **P.S. Don't forget to subscribe to me to be notified when my future fics go live, which will all be Sterek. I've got some good stuff planned. And feel free to check out my past fics if you haven't already and are interested.**


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